Happy Memorial Day! I have decided this would be a good day to take a walk down an entirely personal memory lane, and really look back at every awful beauty decision I’ve ever made. Maybe it will stop you from making the same mistakes, if you’re the kind of weirdo who goes into beauty salons and makes the worst possible requests of your hairdresser.
Age 11: Accidentally got a mullet. I didn’t mean to! I did not plan this one! Look, I wanted to look like Jennifer Aniston. It was 1997. I went in asking for “all the layers.” For the rest of my life, every time I go into a hairdresser, the first thing I say is “Very few layers. In fact, as close to one length as possible.” No hairdresser will ever do just one length.
Age 13: Had pretty much all of my eyebrows waxed off. Not entirely. I did not, say, wax them all off in the manner of some movie star from the 1920′s and then draw them back on. I encountered one woman who did this, and she drew them back on inexplicably in purple, so, basically, what that anecdote is meant to illustrate is that I knew that if you waxed all your eyebrows off you might lose the ability to distinguish colors from one another. So I didn’t do that. I just made them into a tiny, skinny line. I was warned that they might never grow back properly, but assumed that was one of those things adults lied about like, “You need to know how to do long division” or “You’ll really appreciate knowing how to play the piano later in life.” The weird little bits towards the end? They never really grew back properly.
Age 14. All foundation, all the time. Look, this was not entirely my fault. This was the fault of not figuring out that rosacea was not just normal acne. So, in an attempt to cover the red blotches over my face I spent all of high school basically wearing the face make-up of a geisha. I think it looks a lot better when geishas do it. Or vampires. Vampires or ghosts both look really good that way.
Age 16. The one summer I tanned. Again, this was mostly an attempt to combat the fact that I have pretty blotchy red skin, the best cure for which I seemed to decide was to tan the hell out of it. I spent most of the summer lying on my balcony on a black towel (to get more sun) trying to turn myself the approximate shade of Lindsay Lohan. The thing is, that was never destined to work. My skin does not tan. It just peeled off in chunks, sort of like a crocodile. A sad tomato colored crocodile. I guess the upside was that my skin was red and blotchy all over instead of in isolated areas. The downside is probably that if I die of skin cancer, it will be because of this summer.
Age 17: Slept on curlers every night. I naturally have pretty frizzy hair and figured this might be one way to tame it. In an attempt to not seem like I slept on curlers every night, I told everyone my hair was naturally curly. I kind of figure that since it slowly reverted to its natural state later in the day, people probably figured me out on this one. My scalp also got very, very bruised.